


A Lot of Things

by drugdog



Series: Everyone is Queer 'Verse [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Trans Male Character, basically joe thinks bill is pretty, but doesn't everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drugdog/pseuds/drugdog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe is jealous of Bill's transition on many levels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lot of Things

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I keep this sorta shit on my blog. But hey, I don't think I've seen a work that isn't mine in this fandom with queer characters. Bullshit.  
> And, well, there are (now) seven works in the Joe/Bill tag. Insufficient.  
> Unbeta'd, per usual, and written late at night. If you see a mistake, go ahead and point it out.

Going to Bill’s house was always an adventure. The motherfucker had tons of siblings- nine, maybe more, Joe thought when he bothered counting. He was also open about being trans. Incredibly.

Joe wasn't just thinking about going to bars with their fake IDs and watching Bill beat the living shit out of some poor soul who called Joe a pretty girl, told him he should grow his hair out and shave, on the sidewalk outside. That was general goodwill to a fellow trans person.

What he did mean, though, was Bill leaving his packers everywhere and wearing his binder and boxers around like it was nothing. That was something Joe only did when he was alone in his apartment, mostly when at the dining table with Ramen hanging out his mouth.

Joe didn’t understand how Bill wasn’t afraid of his gender. Joe had looked up murder rates for trans folk. Knowing there had been 1374 odd reported murders in sixty countries since 2008 kept him lying low and not having fake dicks on nine out of ten bare surfaces.

Joe was looking at one of them, a fake fucking dick, sitting in Bill’s swirly office chair and fidgeting with a pencil. He was jealous. Packers and STP devices were expensive as hell. What money he got went to food and keeping a roof over his head. It was on Bill’s nightstand next to a glass of what could be water or vodka. He wasn't close enough to smell.  _Is that sanitary?_

“You gonna keep starin’ at my fuckin’ dick, Toye? Why’re you here again?” Bill sat on his bed, watching Joe as if he’d been watching somewhat uncomfortable eighteen-year-olds his whole life. Joe glanced up, just to look at those eyes of his, pretty as anything, green and brown and crinkled some at the corners.

Joe set his gaze on Bill’s nose after a second. Being stared at wasn’t something he liked. “I’m poor,” he mumbled, “and I’m tired of eating Ramen every day to pay for T shots. Your momma’s good at cooking, too. She loves me.”

Bill cracked a grin. It was uneven- Bill never bothered fixing that underbite of his; Joe found it endearing, especially when he smiled- and Joe took a second to admire how square his jaw looked. “She’s got overtime. What’re you here for?”

Joe didn't respond for a moment, playing Bill's words over in his mind. He ended up so good, deep-voiced, with a nice jawline, everything Joe wasn't. Joe smoked to lower his voice. And to help with his anxiety.  _It just sounds scratchy._

“My utilities are already high enough, jackass, that’s what. And I’m hungry.” Joe thought about what he would have to do to pay rent.  _Strip in one of those gentlemen’s clubs Mr. Sobel frequents out of curiosity… Curiosity meaning escape from boring missionary sex with the lights off._  “And your dick, Bill. Your flawless dick. You got a problem with that?” Joe scratched the pencil with his pointer finger and furrowed his brow.

Bill swung his legs over the side of his bed and ran his thumb over the fly of his boxers. They were red and plaid and he was definitely packing. “Fuck, baby, let’s save that for later,” he said, got up, and put on a pair of shorts. The fluid nature of his movement never ceased to amaze Joe. “You like PBJs?”

He hadn't had one since he was Bill’s age, when he was pre-everything and craving something between bouts of dysphoria that made him want to peel his skin off. “Nah. Let’s eat ‘em anyway.” Joe reached under his shirt to scratch his binder.

Bill picked up his packer from the nightstand. Joe could see why he didn’t use it. It was bigger than his hand, and the fucker had square paws, big, square paws, because he started T young. He looked like he was going to throw it, but he set it back down and walked to the door.

“Alright, yeah. Let’s have some fuckin’ PBJs.”


End file.
